


Redness of the City

by prostrawberry



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Death, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Red Plague (The Arcana), Red Plague (The Arcana), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prostrawberry/pseuds/prostrawberry
Summary: There has always been suffering, but there have not always been parties. Vesuvia has been stained red by beetles and coughing and death, but throughout it all, they celebrate.
Kudos: 9





	Redness of the City

**Author's Note:**

> this is. Not Good and also Very Short but!! i wish there was more info about vesuvia during the red plague and pre canon outside of the apprentice and their love interest's story and i wanted to take a kind of general look at what life was like in the city during the plague. comments and critiques are always much appreciated etc. :)

Vesuvia was a nation accustomed to hardship, as were its citizens. There were those who suffered and those who thrived, as in every other part of the world. Lines were drawn in the canals of Vesuvia between the haves and the have nots, and while there were few places outside of the wealthy Heart District that one would find no suffering, there was a general philosophy that _things could always be worse_. Even those with nothing told each other that things could always be _worse_. Of course, it was just a saying then. Just something parents told children and neighbors told neighbors and spouses told spouses. Nobody ever put any thought into what _worse_ was. It was of public opinion that _worse_ was a distant future for future Vesuvians to deal with, a monster under their proverbial beds.

And then the beetles came.

The people of Vesuvia didn’t know what they were at first.

Beetles painted unnaturally red began to infest the city. Streets, schools, taverns, homes - the insects seemed to slowly begin appearing everywhere. Killing one just spawned two more. But Vesuvians could deal with bugs. The beetles were just another inconvenience tacked onto the already extensive list of existing ones.

And then red began to take over the city.

When Vesuvians began panicking at the sight of their red scleras, they rushed to their physicians. The Doctors assumed it was from a lack of sleep. Or stress. Or a poor diet. Or failing eyesight. A never ending list of or-s. The red of the beetles consumed more of the citizens’ sight as the darkness grew longer.

But it was a hard time for everybody, right? Times had always been tough. When doctors drew from their never ending list of or-s and whipped up a miracle cure, fears were extinguished. Panic began to die down. Vesuvians went back home and to work and to school, because everything was fine.

Until the coughing started.

It was mild at first. The weather was changing. The days and nights were growing colder. There would be something wrong with you if you _didn’t_ have something wrong with you.

But then their coughing grew stronger, and their appetites weakened.

Vesuvians were wheezing now, barely unable to leave their homes without turning their handkerchiefs red.

_Red_ , _red_ , _red_.

_Red_ like the beetles tucked away in corners, watching the city dissolve into chaos as if it was a tragedy nearing its devastating conclusion.

_Red_ like the scleras of the infected, impossible to hide markers of death that turned families and neighbors against each other. Worn by some as proudly and fearlessly as the Count and the medals that flashed underneath the lights of his masquerade balls. Hidden by others beneath dark glasses and eye patches that fooled no one.

_Red_ like the blood that flooded the streets, schools, taverns and homes of Vesuvia. Splattered on the ivory masks of those treating the sick like a twisted art piece. Dotted on handkerchiefs and tissues and in the crooks of elbows and hands.

It wasn’t long after the coughing that those infected began to die.

When the deaths first began, there was always noise. Wailing families and friends and spouses and neighbors. Quiet “ _I’m sorry_ ”-s muttered by doctors. Countless prayers whispered in pristine marble temples and pleas to God shouted from the streets and rooftops.

But the noise didn’t last long. Death hadn’t just come for the infected, it had come for the healthy. Physically, they were still there - working and eating, hearts beating and lungs breathing - but there was a death of soul. There was an emptiness behind the eyes and words and actions of Vesuvians.

Death no longer brought wailing and sobbing from loved ones, just a quiet resignation. A bowing of heads, a closing of eyes, and deep breaths. Doctors no longer took the time to apologize or comfort. They laid a tender hand on a living relative’s death, sighed, and moved onto the next home. Temples slowly became deserted, for the divine had abandoned the people of Vesuvia.

And the parties lasted throughout it all. The Count was sick himself, and yet there was always a party - mouth watering food and expensive costumes and music and dancing. But the shadow of death always casted a dark shadow over the performative joy of the partygoers.

That shadow never went away, really. Even after the murder of the Count and the passing of the plague, the bodies and blood and red were still fresh enough in everyone’s mind to create a constant sense of paranoia in Vesuvians. Coughs elicited wary looks and caution and red all but disappeared from clothing and decorations and art.

The bodies were burned, and the beetles retreated back to wherever they had come from, but the damage was done. Even though a foreigner couldn’t see a single trace of it in the city, red now tinted everything in Vesuvia.


End file.
